At the Beginning
by Andraia452
Summary: Three vignettes about the B-Team that take place when they are 5, 10, and 15 years old.


**At the Beginning**

Donatello sat on the frayed Victorian rug, chubby olive legs splayed apart. The young terrapin hummed happily to himself, pink tongue poking out in concentration as he readied the screwdriver yet again toward the chipped, gray plastic.

"Hey, Mikey, Donnie. Dad said to clean up. It's time for lunch ..." Raphael stopped in shock as he observed the mix of plastic and metal scattered amongst his brother on the floor. Emerald eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in anger. "Is ... is that... the _motorcycle_?" he managed to sputter out.

Gone was the cheery tune as Donatello slowly lowered the tool to the ground. Michelangelo, now aware of the tension in the room, fisted the yellow crayon tightly, coloring book forgotten. A worried light shone in his eyes as he watched his older siblings.

Raphael glared at his brother. Donatello ducked his head to the left, avoiding the penetrating stare. The ground reverberated with the frustrated turtle's stomping. The shamrock-colored terrapin seethed with rage, fists clenching and unclenching as he struggled to breathe. How _could_ he? Most of the toys they had were broken or missing parts, but _this_ \- _this_ was the one good toy they actually owned! Even though the metallic paint job had flaked in spots, the brilliant red light on the wheel hub still flashed and the motorcycle had made loud whirring sounds when he raced it along the floor. Now, the toy was strewn in fragmented pieces around his brother's legs, the once-blinking light detached, its clear plastic encasement cracked open.

"What have you done?!"

Donatello flinched at the betrayal in his brother's voice. "I ... I just wanted to see how it worked."

"How it worked?! It worked jus' fine before you did this!" Green hands gestured angrily at the mess before them.

Trying to control his quivering lip, Donatello apologized. "Gee, Raphie, I'm real sorry. I was just curious -"

"Put it back together. Now." The words sounded gravelly as sand, coming through gritted teeth.

"I, um, don't know if I can." Nervous fingers pulled at lengthy, tangerine strings surrounding a threadbare spot.

"What?!"

"I don't 'member where everything goes. I started drawing a map, but got distracted ..."

With a frustrated grunt, Raphael lunged at his younger sibling. Michelangelo stood watching, mouth agape, as fists and legs flew so suddenly they blurred. Water pooled in the crystal blue, when a sharp, strong voice firmly interrupted, "Yame!" Long, thin tan fingers encircled Raphael's upper arm, separating him from a crying Donatello. Splinter's eyes narrowed at his one son upon noticing a bite-shaped bruise forming on the other's forearm. "What is the meaning of this?"

"He broke our only good toy!" Raphael sniffed back his tears; partly from the destruction of the object, partially from fear of being caught fighting by his father.

"I only wanted to see how it worked - honest! I didn't mean to ruin it."

"I see," Splinter replied, surveying the mess. Days like this exhausted him. Parenting four diverse children was indeed a challenge. He pointed to the spot on the floor with his free hand. "Donatello, you wait here. I will meet with Raphael first. Then you and I can discuss a suitable punishment for your actions." He knew he would have to tread carefully with this son. He didn't want to dissuade his insatiable curiosity, but he couldn't have him destroying every object in the household to do so. Deciding Raphael would be the easier child to deal with, he left Donatello behind, giving him more time to figure out how to handle this situation with his creative son.

Donatello stayed glued to the rug, wiping his snout with the back of his hand. His eyes were so filled with tears, he almost didn't notice his younger brother offering a tissue. "You can fix it, right, Donnie?"

Blowing his nose, he kept trembling. "Mikey, what if Raphie gets in BIG trouble? And then he's really, really mad at me?"

The sea green arm snaked around the olive shoulder. "I'll protect you."

* * *

Donatello glanced up from his desk, puzzled by his out of breath younger brother slamming the bedroom door behind him.

Wide blue eyes begged, "You've got to help me, D!"

Before he could ask Michelangelo what was going on, an enraged Raphael burst into his room. "Mikey!"

The orange banded turtle shrunk behind the elder's chair, gripping the thin foam as if to shield himself from the red rage of wrath. He winced as Raphael stepped menacingly toward him.

"Woah, woah, woah," Donatello leapt from his chair, abandoning his books, pencil still tight in his grasp. He spread his arms out, trying to form a barrier between the two. Clearing his throat, he used his bravest voice. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"The problem," Raphael spat, gesturing wildly toward Michelangelo, "is that that pest tried to poison me!"

"Poison you?"

"One minute I'm sittin' on the couch, watchin' wrestling. I've got popcorn, Orange Crush, it's all good. Then I hear the radio blastin' in my bedroom."

"How is _that_ poisoning you?"

"I didn't finish! That little twerp must've snuck into my room to set off my stuff, 'cause when I came back to take a drink of soda, do ya know what happened?"

Donatello blinked twice as he shook his head.

"The cup was filled with bubbles!"

"Raphael, carbonation bubbles are part of the soda experience."

"I ain't talkin' no gas bubbles, Brainiac. I'm talkin' soap bubbles. And he's the one who did it!" An accusatory finger jabbed in Michelangelo's direction.

The youngest turtle whimpered, crouching further behind the worn material.

Donatello calmly tapped the pencil's eraser to the side of his mouth. "Hmmm... interesting. And you say this all occurred within the last twenty minutes?"

Narrowing emerald eyes never left the quivering terrapin. "Yep."

A hearty chuckle broke Raphael's gaze and drew his attention. "Well, it couldn't have been Mikey. He's been with me for the last two hours."

"Yeah, I'm sure Mr. Short Attention Span was really helping you with your research assignment." A snort accompanied the eye roll.

"Well, if you must know, I've already finished my homework. I'm actually copying articles out of the encyclopedia, specifically an article on landforms in South America. It's a great way to learn geography _and_ work on my penmanship."

"Ugh, you really are such a nerd. But you 'spect me to believe Mikey was working on that, too?"

"Nope." Donatello reached over to his desk, producing several comic books. "He's been working on his reading skills." His gap-tooth smile beamed as he offered the colored pages to his brother.

"Then how do you 'splain that soap in my cup? Magic elves?"

Donatello shrugged. "Maybe Leo didn't rinse the glasses out enough last night."

Baffled, the quick tempered brother wasn't ready to admit defeat. "Well... I've still got my eye on you!" Throwing his hands up in the air, he turned to leave, missing the defiant tongue that stuck out at him.

Michelangelo waited until the door was closed before creeping out from the desk chair. "Teach him to drink _my_ Orange Crush. Thanks, bro. You really had my shell there."

"Soap bubbles, Mikey?" Donatello shook his head.

"Disney Princess comics, D?" A freckled-face grinned widely at his brother.

* * *

The quartet peered over the edge of the rooftop in complete confusion; Snakeweed was nowhere in sight.

Sighing, Raphael flicked his sais toward the gravel. "And the award for 'Worst Leader' goes to -"

"How am _I_ the 'Worst Leader'?" Leonardo's upper lip curled in disgust.

"If we did this my way, Snakeweed would be toast by now!"

"Ugh," Michelangelo moaned, shaking his head. "That'd be some nasty toast."

Donatello gasped, sensing the animosity rising between the older two. Gently grasping the youngest by his shoulders, he took two steps back, pulling them safely out of the line of fire. Before letting go, he gave a firm squeeze to signal him to be silent for now.

"This way would have worked if you hadn't wasted time second guessing my orders." Leonardo leaned, gritting his pearly whites.

"Don't give bad orders, and I won't second guess 'em." Raphael countered, baring his teeth.

Ever the peace maker, Michelangelo tried to break the tension by offering the lead the team, only to be met with two growling brothers.

...

Donatello leaned over a map of the city, trying to use calculations to find Snakeweed's lair. Lost in concentration, he didn't hear the lab door creak open.

"Hey, D?"

Donatello didn't glance up, using the black marker to circle a cluster of red rectangles. "Hey, Mikey, what's up?"

The orange banded turtle casually leaned on an old blue monitor. "I just wanted to say thanks."

Donatello paused, finally looking at his brother. Sensing his confusion, Michelangelo continued, "You know, trying to keep me out of Leo and Raph's fight earlier."

The smartest sibling smiled genuinely, "You know I've got your shell."

Absentmindedly, he fiddled with some wires protruding from the back of the computer. "Will it always be that way, D?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well... now that you've got this crush on April, will you still make time for me?"

Olive face flushing, he stammered, "Cr-crush? I don't know what you're talking about."

Michelangelo shot him a dubious glance.

"Hey, Mikey? You didn't really mean it when you told Snakeweed to take me instead of the pizza guy, right?"

Chuckling, he retorted, "Nah, I was just jealous of all the time you've been focusing on your non-crush."

Donatello placed his hand on top of Michelangelo's. "Hey, we are B-Team forever, bro." The freckled face broke into a wide beam. "But, I will so deny it if you tell them I called us that."

Michelangelo made a zipping motion across his lips.


End file.
